Singular as it may seem to you, sir, my deductions from this incomplete story, bristling as it might seem with unimagined, untold dangers, were, that the river maintained a full flow, was seldom interrupted by obstructions, had some serious breaks in its grade, which, however, did not involve actual falls, and, if violent at any point, was not unnegotiable, as you say. The fisherman evidently passed the worst place alive, but did not survive the shock. He lost his nerve and got ashore—and besides, in his case, there were most valid reasons for objecting to a lengthier transit.
This favorable interpretation, so far as it helped me to make up my mind, was really itself helped by a kind of desperation. It was impossible for me to remain in this solitude any longer. An almost fierce monomania of repulsion was growing within me, and, of some natural hardihood myself, this excitant for action bestowed on me an almost unnatural indifference to danger.
Later I told my friends I had made up my mind. Whatever perils lay in my way I would cope with them as I could—but GO I would, and as an avenue of escape that seemed to promise the quickest release I preferred the river. There were many solemn and affecting conferences—continued as we had opportunity—and the preparations were, so far as the resources allowed, carefully made. They were indeed so wisely made that I reached the Siberian Sea safe and sound. The intervention of Luck or Providence in assisting him, is consciously or unconsciously expected by every Arctic explorer, probably by any explorer; and with the contribution of his best judgment, unsparing effort, and personal fortitude, he is inclined to put the blame of his failure—if he fails—on those two omnipotent factors. If he succeeds, a brave man is probably not less inclined to give them the credit.
We selected the best rifle of our little collection, stored all of our ammunition, depending on the ingenuity of Hopkins and the King to reconcile the Radiumopolites to this sequestration of their beloved thunder, the Professor entrusted to me some pencil scribbled papers, and then we turned our attention to my personal equipment. I believed that in a week’s time at the most I would be enabled to reach the coast. We all felt that, assuming a parallel conformation of the various zonal strips we had traversed entering Rasselas, their proximity on the west argued for a probable narrowing of their width. To have attempted the eastward route over the path we had taken had no attractions for me, and from the first we felt my absence would then be more quickly discovered, and myself willy-nilly overhauled.
But later we turned our first plans upside-down. Hopkins said my departure should be a public event, that we would never be able to accomplish anything satisfactorily in this hidden, secret fashion.
“Take the bull by the horns; fly a high kite and put it up to ’em this way. Tell ’em the shade, spirit, spook, anything that’s handy of Antoine Goritz, has appeared to you, and told you to take to the water; that big things will be brought back that way; that the Serpent God wishes it—Oh, anything. Hand it out strong and lively and scary. I guess that’ll rehabilitate Goritz too, give him the saecula saeculorum sort of effect, and it won’t do us any harm either to keep up our show of being on intimate terms with ghosts and such.”
“Will they believe it?” I asked.
“Sure. Why not? What else have they got to do? They’re made that way. All of these rubbishy people who came into existence before gas and electricity, the telephone, trolley car, pasteurized milk and incubators, will believe anything you tell ’em about goblins and witches and scarecrows and second sight and dreams and invisible voices. Try it, Alfred. It’s a cinch.”
Well, we did try it and it was, to put it that way, an unalleviated success. Still there was a fly in the ointment, in a way. Ziliah told Hopkins the little doctors were overjoyed—they wanted me out of the road. I asked the Professor and Hopkins what they thought about that and they both agreed they could take care of themselves. This upshot of the matter was indeed a rather disturbing surprise, but—my departure was a triumph!
The resources of Radiumopolis were at my disposal—food, clothing, and although direction or information could not be furnished, the physical requisitions for combating hunger and cold were generously provided. This alacrity on the part of the little rulers was unmistakably connected with their expectation that the adventure would be the last of me. They were obedient to the injunctions of King Bjornsen, but their subserviency was hypocritical in its protestations of devotion.